


baby got blue eyes

by bottomlinsons (grimgrace)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Comedy, Fluff, Humour, It is also important that everyone knows how incredibly incredibly silly this fic is, M/M, Niall and Liam only feature very very briefly, Romantic Comedy, also unbeta'd, hopefully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:24:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6856747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimgrace/pseuds/bottomlinsons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>A college/uni fic. Harry has been working on a mural and has been struggling to find the right shade of blue. Until he meets Louis. </i> (Essentially, a very silly take on what could have otherwise been an incredibly romantic tale!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	baby got blue eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noton_mywatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noton_mywatch/gifts).



> Oh, you will not believe how hard it has been for me to figure out this prompt. The end result is probably vastly different to what OP had in mind, but I hope that it will do! x

Harry meets Louis on a Tuesday.

He’s in one of the uni coffee shops — a small corner cafe just off campus called _Baby Brooklyn_ that played on the classic exposed brick and industrial piping motif — with Niall at his side and a hot chocolate in his hands. It’s not quite snowing outside, but it certainly feels like it should be. It’s cold enough, that’s for damn sure. The wind is howling with fervour unheard of this close to spring, and so the cramped space is even more packed than usual.

It’s hard to move, there are so many university students trying to seek shelter from the elements, but Harry and Niall don’t have that luxury. They’ve got a class, instead, one that starts in roughly ten minutes, and they are almost certainly going to be late.

The point is that it’s packed, and that even breathing in the overcrowded little cafe is becoming difficult, so if Harry’s dash for the door is a little desperate than he thinks he has a good excuse.

He shoves the door open with far more force than necessary — anticipating resistance from the wind, but not at all the boy standing on the other side of it.

“Oh— _fuck!_ ” the boy says, when the door smacks straight into his nose.

“Oh! Fuck!” Harry shouts in surprise.

The boy brings his hands up to his nose, swearing furiously. A drop of blood has already dripped from his nose, rolling down over his lip, and Christ, there’s a very good chance that Harry’s just broken this guy’s nose.

Handling that knowledge with little to no dignity, Harry flounders. He waves his own hands frantically in the air, his brain desperately searching for something, _anything,_ to say that might ensure that he doesn’t get his broke arse sued.

He’s only just settled on, ‘ _Holy shit, I’m so fucking sorry!!!’_ when the boy’s furious blue eyes flicker up to meet his.

“Oh,” Harry says again. This time his voice is a weak little thing, but that’s probably understandable, given the circumstances. “Fuck.”

.

To recap,

“Niall,” Harry had announced grandly at the start of their art tute, bright and early three days previously. “I’m stuck in a bit of a pickle.” 

Niall’s face had twisted up comically.

“What? Did you just say ‘a bit of a pickle’?” he’d said.

Harry sighed. “ _You know_ ,” he had then clarified, “Like a problem. Between two hard places, that kind of thing.”

Niall shot him a withering glare. “I know what it means, you dick,” he’d said.

“Then why’d you ask?” Harry demanded.

“Because I’ve not heard anyone ‘cept my Nan say it in my whole life!”

Harry let out a huge, huffy sigh and fixed Niall with his most unimpressed face. This, he’d thought, was really not the point.

“I’m stuck, Niall!” he’d said, rather than continuing what would have certainly become an incredibly long and probably quite aggressive argument. “That’s the important thing! I can’t go on; I’ve literally come to a complete standstill.”

There was a pause.

Then,

“Well, why didn’t you just say that in the first place?” Niall demanded hotly.

Harry deflated.

Niall had appeared unconcerned. “You know, you coulda saved us quite a bit of time if you’d just stop talking like a wanker.”

“Yeah?” Harry replied furiously, “Well we could have saved even more time if your _face_ wasn’t such a wanker.”

What followed was another slight pause. This one was a little longer than the first, leaving just the right amount of time for Harry to wistfully wave goodbye to his dignity as it floated out the window and far, far away.

In his defence, Harry had thought, it was only just past nine in the morning. Maybe he should have saved this conversation for after lunch, when his brain was firing a little faster.

“Nice,” Niall said. His smile was far too smug for this early in the morning.

“Oh shut up,” Harry said. “They’re just words, you know,” he continued imperiously. “I’m eloquent now; it’s how I _express_ myself.”

Niall had just huffed and rolled his eyes. “Sure,” he’d said. “I’ll believe that when you actually read that dumb book in your bag, instead of just hauling it around wit’ ya and everyone that you have.”

Harry felt his cheeks heat up at that. He darted around furtively to see if anyone else in their class might’ve heard that little nugget of knowledge, then turned his glare on Niall.

“I told you that in confidence,” he’d hissed, “And it’s not my fault. Have you ever actually tried to read Dostoyevsky?”

Niall just shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “But I’m not acting like a pretentious tosser, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Harry let his shoulders slump, leaning back into his chair and letting out a deep breath. It wasn’t like he could begrudge Niall for his comments — after all, that damn book _was_ in his bag still and he _hadn’t_ read it despite telling Nicole Watson from his Design and Technology lecture that it has ‘changed the way he sees the world’. 

He did look up the summary online though. That had to count for something.

He’d asked Niall. Niall said it didn’t.

Go figure.

It was probably best to move on, anyway. Niall, who’s known Harry since they’d decided to see what the glue tasted like in second grade, probably isn’t going to change his mind on this one. It was a little annoying. Harry’s plight to appear more worldly and intelligent has been going quite well otherwise.

“I could read Russian literature if I wanted to,” Harry had grumbled.

Niall shot him a challenging look. “Well, the books already in your bag buddy,” he said. “Go right ahead.”

Harry glared at him again.

It was only when Professor Lancaster (‘ _Please,’ she’d said on their first day, ‘Call me Terri’_ ) walks in that Harry realised, after all that, he hadn’t even had the chance to tell Niall about his actual problem. The reason for Harry’s pickle, so to speak.

“Good Morning everybody,” she sung as she walks up to the front of the class. “How is everyone feeling today?” She’d received an assorted mix of grunts and groans in return, but appeared unconcerned. “Has anyone got any questions about their major work?”

And there it was.

The source of all of Harry’s worries and concerns. The reason for his sadness, the grounds for all his woe.

His major work.

“More like major pain in my ass,” Harry had muttered to Niall.

Niall snorted. “You’re so fucking lame.”

It appeared that Niall didn’t fully understand. He didn’t need to, after all. He was almost completely done with his work — an exquisitely painted set of playing cards, a King, Queen, Joker and Ace all designed to look like different members of his own family. The only thing he had left to do was the colouring before he could hand his assignment in.

Harry, on the other hand, had encountered a road block.

When they’d been given the assignments, almost two months previously, Harry had been over the moon. An entire semester to work on his own independent work had sounded like a dream come true. This is what he’d been waiting for. Gone were the sixth form ‘sketch this banana in an unfamiliar place’ assignments, or the college ‘take a set of pictures of what inspires you.’ He was working entirely of his own devices, and he was going to make a fucking masterpiece.

Harry could picture it clearly in his head from the very first day.

He’d spent weeks convincing his mother to give him the space in his backyard, and even longer than that figuring out exactly where he was going to put it. His mural, he ultimately decides, would sit a little way back from the fountain that Robin had installed last summer, framed by his mother’s favourite begonias. It would be roughly two metres by two metres and its content, Harry knew, would speak to power and freedom and strength.

Unfortunately, it was with Harry’s grand plans that progression had mostly halted. Perhaps he overestimated his abilities, or underestimated how much time he actually had to work on it, but all that Harry had now was a huge, empty canvas and absolutely no idea where to begin. 

Thus, his pickle.

“I don’t know what you’re whining about,” Niall had said, after Professor Lancaster dismissed them to work and Harry was finally given the chance to explain. “Aren’t you just doing an ocean?”

Honestly.

For an artist, Niall really had no idea about creative integrity. To call his idea ‘just’ anything is essentially tantamount to spitting in the face of Harry’s hopes and dreams.

Harry didn’t tell him this. It would, of course, only lead to Niall calling him dramatic again.

Instead, he’d said imperiously, “It’s not _just_ anything, Niall. It’s important to me and I want to get it right.”

Niall had shrugged. “Sure,” he’d said, “But I’m just saying you might wanna consider getting it right sooner rather than later.”

.

He couldn’t find the right blue, was the thing — and that would be fine if Harry were painting a fire or something, but he wasn’t. He was painting the beach, with smooth blended tones and rolling waves and a vast sky overlooking it all. That was a whole lot of fucking blue. There was a little bit of sand in one corner, sure, and some grass that Harry planned to add in for a little bit of detail — but aside from that, everything is blue.

And Harry couldn’t find the right fucking blue.

This was ridiculous, because there were a thousand different types of blues and Harry was probably going to have to use all of them to make this thing look as realistic as possible, but he just couldn’t figure out where to start.

Until now that is.

.

The thing is.

The _thing_ _is._

This boy’s eyes might be the answer to all of Harry’s dreams.

And Harry’s just broken his nose.

.

“Oh, my god,” Harry practically cries, air shuddering back into his lungs. It’s so cold outside that he can see the words escape him, a cloud of mist floating through the air before disappearing. “Oh, my god, oh my god, oh my god. I am _so_ sorry.”

He shoves his hot chocolate in Niall’s direction before taking a huge and hasty step forward. He hesitates for a second over the distance, his hands flapping uselessly in the air, as he tries to figure out how the fuck he can fix this.

The guy startles back from Harry’s approach though, still cradling his nose.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” the man says. “ _Ow_.”

“I am so sorry,” Harry blabbers on. “I didn’t mean to, I just didn’t see you, I—”

“The door’s made of glass!”

“I know, I know — I’m sorry. I just, I wasn’t looking!”

The guy gives a derisive little snort. “That much is perfectly clear, mate.”

“What can I do?” Harry blabbers, “Is your nose alright?”

The guy pulls his hand away from his nose. There’s blood all over his top lip, dribbling down around his mouth on over his chin.

Harry feels a little woozy. “Oh my god,” he says again.

The guy doesn’t pay much attention to him though, too busy reaching up and gingerly poking at his nose. His face scrunches up a little bit, but he doesn’t howl in pain or anything which is probably a good sign.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” he concludes after a second.

“Oh, thank god,” Harry breathes.

“Got blood all over me shirt though,” the boy goes on, ignoring him. “That’s fucking disgusting, that is.” He looks down at plucks at the fabric, pulling it away from where it’s plastered to his chest.

Harry shuffles awkwardly on his feet for a second.

“Do you...?” he tries, “Do you need a shirt?”

Behind him, Niall snorts.

At this, Harry finally seems to grab the boy’s attention. Those beautiful eyes flick up to look at him, paired with an incredibly, incredibly sceptical frown. “Why?” he says. “You got a spare one on you?”

He glances down at Harry, like he’s worried Harry’s going to just rip his shirt off then and there.

“Uh, no,” Harry replies. “But my flat is like, uh, just around the corner.”

The frown deepens and Harry abruptly realises how shady that sounds. He backpedals, to little success. “Not that, like, you have to come to my — I just mean, like, I didn’t _plan_ this or anything, like—”

Niall lets out a very loud sigh and steps forward. “Sorry,” he says to the guy, who is looking more and more alarmed with every word that spills out of Harry’s mouth. “Please ignore him. He’s honestly not trying to be as creepy as he sounds.”

The guy eyes him warily.

Harry shrugs, smiling weakly.

“I live on campus,” he tries, this time sounding a little more composed. “It’s only a couple of minutes away, if you need anything. You could — you could wash up, if you want?”

Finally the guy relaxes a little. His smile, when it appears, is just as lovely as his eyes.

“Yeah, alright,” he says.

“Really?” Harry says.

For fuck’s sake.

The guy just looks entertained, which is good, because it balances out the incredulous ‘ _you’re a fucking idiot’_ look that Niall’s sending his way.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind,” the guy says. “I’d go home, it’s just I’ve got class in a bit and I don’t think I’ll make it back in time.”

“Oh, no,” Harry says. “I just — it doesn’t matter. Of course, you can come.”

They just look at each other for a second. An awkward kind of silence settles in, save for the biting wind.

“Uh, shall we?” Harry says.

The guy shrugs a little, touching his nose a little bit before shoving both of his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, if you want,” he says. “Lead the way.”

It falls quiet again.

Niall’s the one to break it this time, with another of his incredibly rude incredulous laughs. “Alright then!” he says, far more enthusiastic than he needs to be. “You guys have a good time. Harry, I’ll see you in class!”

Harry’s eyes widen. “What?” he hisses.

“Class?” Niall says, “You know. That place where we go every day, cause we’re students.”

That gets a laugh out of the guy, which Harry would appreciate if he wasn’t too busy trying to communicate to Niall in his mind.

 _Don’t leave me_ , he thinks; waiting for those psychic powers he’s always dreamed about to kick in, _don’t you dare fucking leave me._

“Bye!” Niall says.

Oh, god, Harry thinks.

“Alright then,” the guy says, waving a friendly, if slightly confused, little goodbye to Niall. “Harry, was it?”

Harry nods a little weakly.

The guy smiles. His teeth are slightly red from the blood that’s gotten into his mouth, but Harry still think he’s looks incredibly cute. “M’Louis. S’good to meet you, I guess.”

“Louis,” Harry says, trying it out in his mouth. He likes it. “Okay. Cool.”

They both fall silent again.

For fucks sake, he thinks. He’s usually far smoother than this.

“Uhm, do you want to go then?” He nods his head in the direction of his flat, his heart racing and his face red.

“Sure,” Louis says. “Lead the way.”

.

It takes slightly more than five minutes to get to Harry’s house; some made traffic on the roads holding them up. The wind only picks up as they walk, keeping mostly silent save for a little scattered awkward conversation.

“Okay, this is it,” Harry says, when they finally get to his front door. “I’m on the second floor, but the lift’s broken so we’ll have to take the stairs. Is that okay?”

Louis shoots him a little smirk. Harry’s seen that smirk a lot during their walk, mostly when Harry had tried to start any kind of conversation. It was an entertained little thing, like he was trying to puzzle Harry out — which should have made Harry feel uncomfortable, by any right, but really only made something in his tummy feel nice and warm.

“Nice place,” Louis says, when they walk inside.

Harry does a double take. He looks at Louis, then at his apartment, then back at Louis again. “Really?” he says.

Louis snorts.

Harry doesn’t even mind. He’s still busy trying to make sure that Louis’ seeing the same small one bedroom that Harry’s seeing.

Louis chuckles for a couple of seconds, and then nods. “Yeah man,” he says, “It’s got character.”

“It’s got mice, is what it’s got,” Harry corrects him.

Louis scrunches up his nose. “What?” He looks around the room a little more carefully this time, like the little creatures are going to come straight for him.

 _That’s_ the kind of reaction Harry had been expecting the first time round.

“Oh yeah,” he says. “It’s my fault, I kept leaving the dishes out.”

“Geez,” Louis says. “Are you going to have to call an exterminator or something?”

He looks a little worried by the thought, which really only makes him all the more perfect. Harry rushes to reassure him.

“No,” he says. “I couldn’t do that. It’s not their fault they followed their noses. I’ve just been trying to keep the place a little cleaner and boarding up all the holes. That’s what Google said I should do.”

“Right on,” Louis says.

He still looks a little unnerved.

“Anyway!” Harry says, “I’ll get you a shirt, hang on. Bathroom’s right through there, if you wanna wash up a little.”

He sends Louis off in the right direction while he heads for the bedroom. He grabs one of his favourite sweaters, briefly checks his own appearance in the mirror before rushing back out.

He finds Louis in the bathroom, washing his face. He’s taken his shirt off and set it to the side, so Harry does his best not to stare. He’s already almost smashed the guy’s nose in, after all. Doesn’t need him feeling even _more_ uncomfortable.

“Here,” he says, when Louis’ straightens up. His face is even more striking when it’s free of all that blood, especially with the little strands of wet hair dripping onto his forehead.

Louis takes the jumper and pulls it on, ruffling his hair even further.

Harry goes a little weak at the knees.

“Right then,” Louis says, reaching for his ruined shirt and bundling it up in his hands. “Thanks for that.”

“No worries,” Harry says.

“I’ll try and get the jumper back to you tomorrow. Do you want me to just drop it off?”

Harry nods. “Yeah,” he says. “That’ll be fine.”

The jumper in question looks extraordinary on Louis — far better than it ever has on Harry. He’d probably be fine never getting back, as long as he got to look at Louis in it.

“Sweet,” Louis says. “Well, can’t say it hasn’t been interesting, can I?”

Harry grimaces. “I’m really sorry about your nose,” he says.

Louis waves it off. “Nah,” he says. “Seriously, it’s fine. If it wasn’t, I’d already be halfway to suing you, wouldn’t I?”

Harry laughs a little nervously. “Uh...”

“Just kidding,” Louis says. “Don’t stress about it.”

He looks sincere, which is a bit unexpected. Harry knows heaps of uni students who would have tried to sue him, injury or no, if only to save themselves the tuition money. Harry’s very impressed that Louis holds himself to a higher standard.

Lovely eyes and a lovely soul, Harry thinks. He’s got the lot.

“I better be off,” Louis says. “Gotta try and catch the end of my class. I’ll drop your jumper back here tomorrow, okay?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, easy,” he says. He scrambles for something to say — please stay, I’ve been dreaming about the colour of your eyes for _weeks_ — but he doesn’t quite manage it in time.

They shake hands, and Louis vanishes out the door.

 _Fuck_ , Harry thinks. _Fuck._

.

“Louis!” Harry says, the next time he sees Louis — which is the following morning, in the very same coffee shop, and not at _all_ planned in advance — “Hi!”

Louis considers him a little warily. Harry would be worried if it weren’t for the little smile Louis’ wearing, that makes Harry’s insides feel all warm and fuzzy.

“Hi,” Louis says slowly, drawling out the word exquisitely. “Back again?”

It takes Harry a couple of seconds to realise what he means.

“Oh, yeah!” he says, when it finally does. “Yeah, love this place. Favourite coffee shop in Manchester, to be perfectly honest with you. Practically live here.”

This is all an absolute heap of lies, but, Harry reasons, they’re a heap of lies that have kept that smile on Louis’ face so he doesn’t mind too much.

“Is it now?”

“Yeah, course!”

He gestures around the place, at the pots and plants that hang from the ceiling, the blackboard displays and all the people who are eyeing him grumpily for talking slightly too loud.

He’s getting ready to sing their praise when a voice cuts through their exchanges.

“Louis, move your sorry arse!”

It’s the girl from the other side of the counter. She’s got a wicked nose piercing and her hair done up in two buns on either side of her head. She’s glaring daggers at Louis, as well, which seems a bit funny.

“Is she talking to you?” Harry asks, frowning. _That’s not a very polite way to ask for someone’s order,_ he thinks.

Louis nods. His smile’s bigger now. “Yeah, she is.”

He doesn’t seem as offended as Harry would be, so naturally he frowns some more. “Why’s she yelling?” he asks.

Louis shrugs. “Cause she’s my boss,” he says frankly. “And I guess I’m late.”

Harry _feels_ the blood as it floods his face.

He coughs.

“Oh?” he says weakly. Louis’ smile is something massive now, Harry notices. At least there’s that. “You work here?”

“Well,” Louis says. “When I’m not chatting to regulars like yourself, of course.”

His blue eyes sparkle with a wickedness that Harry wants to turn into storm clouds. Entirely lost for words, Harry just kind of stands there and stares.

In a dignified way.

“Louis!” the girl yells again.

Louis’s back straightens and he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Guess I better be off then,” he says to Harry. “But I’m sure I’ll see you around. Considering you _practically_ live here and all that.”

He leaves Harry with nothing but a bright smile and a vague sense that the world’s just been turned upside down.

Still, he didn’t almost break anyone’s nose this time — that’s gotta be a plus, right?

.

He comes back two days later, shamefaced but determined.

Louis is working the til. There is a line to the til about a mile long. Or not. Harry’s possibly exaggerating just a tad, but he’s allowed to be dramatic, okay. His projects due less than two weeks now and the cute boy standing behind the counter is the answer to all of his dreams.

He debates waiting in line for a moment, pondering whether or not he’s seriously going to do this with an impatient, coffee deprived audience behind him. In that time, three more people step into the line.

“ _Goddamnit_ ,” Harry mutters.

He gets in the line.

As he shuffles ever closer to the counter, he takes the opportunity to practice. _I’m a very serious artist, you see, and take my craft very seriously. Please keep that in mind when I tell you that you are the answer to all of my problems, the colour of your eyes is going to see my art project in the fucking Met_ —

“What can I get you?” Louis asks.

Ah.

He’s at the front of the line.

“Uhm.” Harry says.

Behind him, several irritable people make sounds that suggest they’re even more irritated than before.

Harry doesn’t care.

“Hi,” he says.

Louis lets out a little laugh. He’s grinning though, which must be a good sign. “Hi,” he says back.

It sounds a little like he’s humouring Harry, but Harry will take it.

“I was, uh. I was hoping to ask you a question,” Harry says.

“Was it what drinks do we offer?” Louis asks. “Because you’ll find a very comprehensive list on the board behind me. Although I would have thought you’d already know, being such a frequent customer and all.”

“Ah. Yes. Well, uhm. No.”

“No?”

This isn’t going very well at all. “No,” Harry says. “That is, that wasn’t my question.”

“Wasn’t it?”

“No.”

“No?”

The grumpy people make a general assortment of noises again.

Harry ignores them. “No,” he says again.

“What’s your question then?” Louis asks.

“I, uh,” Harry begins eloquently. “I was hoping to ask — I mean, I wanted to see if you, if you would want to maybe — ”

“Yes,” Louis says.

“ — go to the paint shop with me?” Harry finishes. “Wait, what?”

“Wait,” Louis says. “What?”

“Yes?” Harry says. “Did you just say yes?”

Wow, he thinks. That was way easier than he thought it would be.

“Paint shop?” Louis asks.

“Yeah!” Harry says enthusiastically. “It’s just, I’ve got this project due soon and I think you’ll really be able to help me with it and — wow, I’m so glad you said yes, that’s awesome!”

“I didn’t—” Louis says, looking wildly confused. “Hang on, wait a second—”

“No, you said yes!” Harry interrupts. “Just then, right then! You said it, you said yes!”

Louis looks remarkably bewildered. It’s adorable, or it would be, if Harry wasn’t feeling quite so confused himself.

“Well, yes,” Louis allows, “But I thought you were asking me...”

He trails off.

Harry’s heart thunders.

“Wait,” he says. “You thought I was asking you what?”

“Nothing!” Louis says. “You should maybe keep moving, there’s a line behind you, you know.”

Harry stands his ground. “What did you think I was asking you?”

If Louis was thinking what Harry thinks Louis might have been thinking, this this day is going _way_ better than originally planned.

“Look,” Louis says, “if you’re not going to order anything, you should probably step aside because there are other people—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” a voice comes from behind Harry. A hand lands on his shoulder and he is roughly twisted around, to face a very tall man with gelled back hair. “He thought you were asking him out.”

“What, no—!” Louis says. “Liam, what the hell?”

“I just want my coffee, Louis!” the guy says.

“You thought I was asking you out?” Harry says.

Louis shoots him a very sour look. His eyes are still pretty, but Harry doesn’t like seeing them like that at _all_. “Yes, alright?!” he hisses furiously, “But clearly that’s not what you were doing, so can we all just move along and—”

“No—!” Harry interrupted. “No, that’s what I was doing!”

There is a pause. Then,

“Well, no, it wasn’t,” he amends, because he’s seen where lying can get him. “But I mean it is. I want to, very much, if you’re going to say yes!”

Everything goes a little quiet.

Louis stares at him. Harry stares back. The line behind them has gone incredibly silent — something that’s certainly going to embarrass Harry when he thinks about it later. But for now —

For now, there is only Louis’ eyes and his tentative, shrewd smile.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Yeah,” Harry says straight away. “Yes. Please. Go out with me.”

Louis watches him for another stern second. “Not to the paint shop?” he checks.

“Well,” Harry says, “I’d like it if you went there too, but like? Date first. Date is way better.”

Then Louis starts to smile again. His eyes light up, like the sun reflecting off the ocean, and he nods. “Okay then,” he says. “Cool.”

They watch each other a second longer, just smiling.

“Cool,” Harry agrees. Then, “Oh, and can I get a latte to go?”

.

**_coda_ **

**_._ **

They go to the paint shop.

“This is fucking weird,” Louis says.

Harry holds another of the blue colour palettes up to his face, squinting at the colour options. “Shh,” he says. “This is very serious business.”

There’s a colour called _Powder_ that might work for the sky.

He tells Louis as much. “It looks like the little speckles in your eyes,” he says.

“Speckles?” Louis echoes. He sounds a little offended, but not really — so Harry doesn’t really pay it any mind.

“Maybe _Cascade_?” he muses aloud. “Or _Skyfall_?”

“ _Harry,”_ Louis whines pathetically. “Come on. Hurry up. I want to go to yours and make out.”

Harry pauses.

His assignment’s due in three days and he finally has the answer, the perfect blue wrapped up in this perfect boy who seems perfectly content to be wrapped up in Harry.

Painting can wait for another day, he thinks.

.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and tell me what you thought!! x


End file.
